Call Me Irresponsible
by Philyra
Summary: AU. She has the technique, he has the passion: they both have the love. However, in dancing, the first step is always the hardest to understand, and the hardest to take. RenjiNemu. Part four of the Strictly Ballroom series.


Disclaimer: I don't own Bleach, because I'm not Kubo-sensei. The bleach I own keeps my whites white.

The RenjiNemu crack is here! Belated Valentine's Day, everyone!

* * *

Abarai Renji was bored. He peered out over the room through half-open eyes and wondered for the millionth time why he was here.

Here, of course, was the 8/13 Dance Studio, but he knew very well why he was there; he just didn't like meetings. Meetings between all of the amateur and professional dancers of the studio were few and far between, something Renji took for granted. One of the reasons why he'd joined 8/13 was because of the laid-back atmosphere. Here, there were no politics. If you weren't the best, you worked hard to become the best, with the approval and encouragement of your fellow dancers. They were a close-knit group, the 8/13 bunch, and they were, above all, _damned good dancers_.

"…We want to try something new," Ukitake was saying. "The success of dual-discipline dancers is of interest to us. We know that many of you have not so much as looked at the other style since you've been beginners-"

"Through no fault of your own," Shunsui interjected. "One would hardly expect a Latin dancer to train in Standard when it could be detrimental to the mastery of the former, and the same is true for a Standard dancer."

"But we would like to change that, if only for experimentation's sake. Nanao-san, if you would?"

Renji raised a tattooed eyebrow. Now that was interesting. They wanted to encourage cross-disciplinary training? He glanced at his partner from across the table and noted her scowl. Soi Fong was a formidable woman, well respected by everyone in the studio – especially by him. They worked well together – she kept him on task and he kept her from overworking herself. But Soi Fong was a stickler for tradition and hard work, and he knew it irked her that they hadn't won first place in any competition yet. She would see this as yet another obstacle.

Ise Nanao cleared her throat and adjusted her glasses, forcing Renji's attention back to her. One could hardly guess that the straight-laced woman in front of him had two championship titles under her belt. "Thank you, Ukitake-san. I am entirely in agreement with Ukitake-san and Kyouraku-san-" Renji nearly snorted at the formality with which the woman addressed her lover. "-In their proposal. I was a perfectly adequate Standard dancer, but after my lessons with Kyouraku-san in Latin-" _Now _a blush came over her cheeks as she looked over at the other 8/13 owner, who grinned broadly. "I found that my skills improved because I was better able to showcase emotion – something that dancing Latin taught me."

"I agree with Nanao," Matsumoto Rangiku chimed in. "Except it is the opposite for me. Switching over to Standard has improved my technique."

"Thank you, Nanao-san, Rangiku-chan," Ukitake said with a warm smile. "So, Shunsui and I have discussed this, and we would like it if several of you participated in a buddy system of sorts. We would like you to train with a dancer of another discipline for a few hours a week."

"The goal is to turn you all into well-rounded dancers. The benefits are clear, as we all can see." Shunsui nodded at Nanao and Matsumoto.

"I admit I have some doubts." Soi Fong's strong, clear voice echoed throughout the room. "We have very few hours to work with as it is, training with our own partners as well as handling classes and our lives outside the studio."

"That's why the buddy system is purely voluntary," Ukitake assured her. "We have your best interests at heart, truly, and we would not propose something that we did not think would benefit you all in the long run."

Soi Fong's brow furrowed, and Renji grinned. She was thinking it over, and if he knew his partner, he knew that she would eventually find the idea acceptable. After all, anything that improved their performance was of the utmost importance.

"I have no problem with this," she said eventually.

Ukitake looked relieved. "Then, is there a general agreement?"

Murmurs of assent rose from around the room.

"Good!" Shunsui looked delighted. "Then we leave the decision as to who you partner with up to you. Good day, ladies and gentlemen." He and Ukitake left the room, leaving the dancers to their own devices.

It was too bad, Renji thought, that Hinamori had gone off to Aizen Studios. She would have been the ideal partner, since they were good friends. There was no way he would have approached Halibel-san, if she were still here – Shihoun women were _intimidating_. He dismissed Nanao, since he saw Hisagi approach her. Unohana-san, he noticed with amusement, was rather determinedly taking Ikkaku under her wing, something he didn't envy the other man at all. Matsumoto would have been a possibility, but she was, first and foremost, a Latin dancer. This left-

"Abarai-san?"

He observed the woman in front of him. Kurotsuchi Nemu. The dark-haired, quiet-eyed partner of Yumichika tended to fade into the woodwork, especially when she was around dynamic women like Matsumoto and Soi Fong. However, she was perhaps the most graceful of all the women in the studio, barring Unohana-san.

"Just call me Renji, Kurotsuchi," he said lazily. "I don't hold with formality, ya know."

"Of course, Abarai-san. You may call me Nemu." Her hands were clasped behind her, and she looked steadily at some point beyond his left ear. "It seems that everyone else has partnered off, so-"

"Guess that leaves ya with me." He glanced at her, frowning. That deferential and aloof attitude might serve her fine for Standard, but it would not do for Latin. It seemed like he had his work cut out for him.

Nemu was observing him as well. The flame-haired, tattooed man in front of her caused a stir wherever he went, aided and abetted by his loud, uncouth, and somewhat bumbling manner. But he was a fine dancer; she'd seen that for himself. He was very much a Latin dancer as well as her complete opposite. She wondered, somewhat dispassionately, how this could possibly work.

* * *

They were fifteen minutes into the slow waltz, and Renji was ready to quit. The steps came easily enough: the waltz was one of the easiest dances to learn, and all he needed was reminding. No, what frustrated him was Nemu. For all of her beauty and grace (fine, he admitted it, she was a babe), it was like holding a doll in his arms. He got no emotion from her, and if he could not perceive anything, neither could the judges. No wonder she and Yumichika were not yet professionals.

"Na, stop!" he growled. He stalked away from her, hands on his hips, trying to figure out how to say this diplomatically. Unfortunately, he was anything but diplomatic. "Ya have the technique, but ya got none of the passion. Yer cold," he said flatly.

Nemu nodded slowly. Unohana-sensei and Ukitake-sensei told her that often enough, and Yumichika-san did his best to help her. "Yes, I know. I must say the same for you, Abarai-san. You have the passion, but not the technique."

He was quite a fascinating person, she thought. Yes, he'd remembered the steps quite well, but there were several times when he did not complete a line, or follow through on a step. But his emotions – there was no hiding them.

"Well then." He turned back to her, looping his thumbs through the drawstring of his sweatpants. Despite herself, Nemu tilted her head to the side, interested in the black slashes on his hipbones. Did his tattoos continue further down his body? The white tank top he wore did little to conceal the fact that his tattoos liberally covered his chest, back, and arms. "Maybe we can help each other out then. Ya teach me technique, I'll teach ya passion."

"I believe that was the point of this exercise."

Renji looked at her closely. There was no sarcasm, no inflection in her voice. He shook his head. "First order of business is warming ya up."

"I beg your pardon?"

"So damn proper," he muttered. "Yer like a block of ice, Nemu. That ain't gonna work in ballroom. Loosen up, have fun."

"I do have fun," Nemu replied, bewildered. She would not have become so dedicated to ballroom if she didn't enjoy it. She wouldn't have defied her father and moved into one of the apartments over the studio.

The girl really needed to reevaluate her idea of fun, Renji decided. He glanced at the clock, which read 11:37 p.m. He glanced back at Nemu, who was wearing a short sweater dress, leg warmers, and dancing heels. "Come on." He grabbed his leather jacket and extended a hand to her.

"Where?"

Renji grinned. "We're gonna have some fun. And yer gonna loosen up."

The club he brought her to was certainly not something that she expected. She expected flashing lights, a crowded dance floor, and thumping music. What she got was a cozy, dimly lit place, not crowded but filled. He was evidently a regular, from the easy way he greeted people.

The music was what got her attention. There was a live band with two guitarists, a bass player, and two percussionists – one with a bongo drum, another with a guira. It was one of the guitarists who sang, his voice piercing the smoky room. The guitar wailed in his hands, and every hair on the back of her neck stood up. So caught up in the music was she that she didn't realize she was on the dance floor until Renji pulled her into his arms. "Dance," he said into her ear.

"There's not enough room to do ballroom here. And the music's wrong, even though it's…" she trailed off, not knowing how to describe the music that seemed to resound through her very soul.

Even in the darkness, she saw the white flash of his grin. "In case ya haven't noticed, Nemu, that ain't the kind of dancing going on here."

She turned her head curiously to watch the people around them. It was, she thought, like a stationary rumba, to the tenth degree. Bodies were pressed so closely together that man and woman looked like one. The movement of the hips-

She started when she felt Renji's hands land on _her _hips, pulling her even closer until they cradled his own. They were so close together that one of her legs was firmly sandwiched between his. "Got it?"

"It's like the rumba-"

"It ain't. It's _bachata_. Now, we start to the right. The beat is one, two, three, _hip_." His hands guided her hips up with his. "To the left. One, two, three, _hip._ This dance is about the hip movement _here_, Nemu." To punctuate his point, he moved them in one long, languorous roll. "Good."

"And what is the point of this, Abarai-san?"

"Passion." He jerked his head at the couples around them. "They look like they want to tear each other's clothes off, yeah? I bet ya heard that saying that dancing's the vertical expression of a horizontal desire? There ain't no truer lesson in Latin, and yer going to learn it here."

Nemu frowned, trying to copy the movements of the people around them. Renji laughed, shaking his head. "Yer thinking too much. Close yer eyes. Concentrate on me and the beat. That's all ya need." He took her right hand in his left, positioning her hand high on his back. And he began to move.

She closed her eyes obligingly, and marveled on how every sense instantly heightened. She heard the beat of the bongo, her heart echoing its rhythm. She inhaled and was instantly assaulted by his scent – something sharp and clean and masculine, like pine needles. She could nearly taste the salty sweat that hung in the air. And touch – there was his chest, hard against hers, the muscles tensing and flexing with their every movement. She could feel his breath hot against her ear, her cheek pressed to his.

And she gave herself to the music and the dance, moving with a smoothness and a sensuality she had no idea she possessed.

"Thattagirl." His voice was husky in her ear as he dipped her straight back. It was different from other dips – their bodies were so close together that he had to bend with her or risk them both falling over. His body arched over hers, his hands cradling her to him.

How strange, Nemu thought dimly. She had the oddest urge to simply melt against him. Her heart was beating faster, and it was becoming harder to breathe. Was this passion, this feeling like she held the power of a storm in her hands?

Renji spun her, holding both of her hands with his before draping them behind her neck, pinning them, their hips never stopping their dizzying rotation. Smoky eyes stared into gold as he finally let go, his hands trailing down the line of her back before resuming their hold. She was coming alive, he thought with approval, and damn if that wasn't the sexiest thing he'd ever seen. Her eyes had gone nearly black; her cheeks flushed a becoming pink. And she moved like a pro.

"Ya got it, Nemu," he murmured. "Now use it."

He walked her home later that night, though that was no hardship. He, like her, lived in one of the apartments above the studio. The slight guilt he felt surprised him. He saw her nearly every day and lived a floor above her, yet knew so little about her.

"So, tell me about yerself, Nemu."

She glanced at him, surprised. So few people asked about her. "I was adopted by my father. He's a very successful scientist. I spent much of my life in and around laboratories."

"So why didn't ya become a scientist?"

Nemu pondered that question. Certainly it had puzzled (indeed, more than puzzled) her father. "There was a student who worked there when I was eight," she said slowly. "She was his senior research assistant, but she was also a ballet dancer. She offered to teach me. She said that I needed more in my life than just science. I stayed with it. During college, I majored in chemistry, but my nights were spent dancing. I went from studio to studio until I found 8/13. It suits me." She shrugged. "When I graduated, I moved here."

The redhead was more than slightly taken aback. In the years he'd known her, he'd never heard her say more than she had in the last minute. Who would have known that there was so much hiding beneath the surface? There was that saying about still waters… "And what did yer dad say?"

"He disowned me," was the blithe reply. "Though he said when I regained my senses I could come back."

"And how do ya feel about that?" Renji asked, more shocked at the matter-of-fact way in which she described the situation rather than the situation itself.

She lifted her hands in an enigmatic gesture. "I am content here."

Are you really? he mused, giving her a speculative look. Was that really how she felt? Didn't she want more from life then _and_ now? If he hadn't been looking at her at that moment, he would have missed the answer. Situated next door to the studio was a small park and playground. He didn't miss the way her eyes lingered wistfully on the swing set before shuttering. Oh yes, she wanted things all right, but held herself back – probably her father's doing.

It was a very interesting situation, and he couldn't help but feel a little sorry for her. Of course, she would probably throw any pity right back at his face, so he wasn't going to do anything. Yet. He walked her up to her apartment. "Well, this is where I leave ya. Practice tomorrow?"

"Yes. Your technique needs work, Abarai-san."

"Na, I told ya not to be so formal, Nemu. I'll see you tomorrow."

Her hand caught his sleeve. "Thank you for the dance." She smiled, and he was briefly dazzled. She then closed the door behind her, leaving a bewildered Renji blushing and scratching his head in the hallway.

* * *

"What's this?" Renji asked curiously, watching as Nemu wiped the chalk dust from her hands. Chalk-outlined footprints ranged all over the rooftop of the studio.

"Technique," she said crisply. "I've choreographed a routine for us. Your goal is to step into each outline perfectly. If any part of your foot lands outside, we will start over again." For the first time, she was aware of how stiffly formal her tone was, and she could not help it. The previous night had disconcerted her greatly, once she thought it over. She had revealed more to him than she had to anyone before and she hardly knew him. She wasn't a trusting person; her father was perhaps the most suspicious person who ever lived. He was forever questioning people's motives, and his caution had rubbed off on her.

She could blame it on the dance, she supposed, but then that would be lying. There was something about Abarai Renji, she thought, that was bringing down her walls, and she wasn't quite sure that she liked it.

Renji, of course, had no idea what was going on in the woman's head. He stared in dismay at the footprints and suffered flashbacks to his one torturous year in ballet. "Aw hell," he muttered. "All right, fine, let's do this." He unzipped the hooded sweatshirt he wore, tossing it carelessly to the side. He strode over to Nemu and offered his hand.

When rehearsal was done, Renji was sweating and cursing, but his feet fit within the outlines. Nemu was satisfied and more than a little bit impressed. Even though there were several times throughout the rehearsal when she was ready to…well, she wasn't sure what she was ready to do, but she had had to constantly make sure he was focused. It was aggravating, since Yumichika-san's concentration was every bit as rigid as hers. But somehow, Renji got it done. Her estimation of him rose greatly as a result.

"So, are we done?" Renji asked, taking a swig from his water bottle.

"Yes, Abarai-san, we're finished for today. Tomorrow-"

"Good." He stood up and grabbed her hand. "Come with me."

"What – Abarai-san!" Nemu protested as he pulled her off the roof, down the stairs, and out of the studio to the park next door. "What is the meaning of this-" All protests died in her throat when she found herself facing the swing set in the playground next door.

"Well? Go on, sit." When she didn't move, he let out a gusty sigh, guided her onto one of the seats, and began to push her. "Hold on, will ya? Yer gonna fall off."

Her hands clutched the iron chains. "Abarai-san, what are you doing?" She muffled a shriek as she went higher than expected, a shriek that quickly transformed into a delighted giggle when she adjusted to the back and forth motion.

"That's it, pump yer legs like that." Renji stopped pushing and simply watched, amazed at how something as simple as swinging transformed her. He liked seeing her happy, he realized. Wasn't that interesting? He barely knew her, and yet he already didn't like seeing that longing in her eyes when she looked at the playground. Obviously, her father had never let her do such childish things. He hadn't even met the man and he didn't like him.

But the daughter…he strode in front of her as she tried to drag her toes in the gravel to stop. "Want help?" He grabbed the chains, slowly pulling and pushing on the swing to bring her to a stop. He glanced up and realized that he had pushed her to eye level, and that she was staring at him with an unreadable expression on her face.

Lily-soft lips landed on his cheek as Nemu whispered, "Thank you." Then she flushed, paled, and ducked under his arm, sprinting back to the studio before he could process what just happened.

Absolutely thunderstruck, he sat on the swing. "What next, genius?" he muttered, completely baffled.

* * *

The technical rehearsals continued along that same vein over the next month with Nemu using the chalk outlines to correct his feet and her own hands to correct his upper body. And twice a week, Renji brought her back to that smoky club to dance _bachata_.

But with every step that Renji gained, Nemu went backwards – especially after their moment on the playground. Her wariness towards her redheaded partner never abated, and indeed grew worse with every visit to the club. Though she had picked up on the dance quickly, she still was not prepared for the emotions it excited within her, so she retreated from him emotionally. And Renji noticed.

"Before we start," he said conversationally during one of their rooftop practices, "Remember this. All the technique in the world ain't gonna make up for a boring performance. For that, Nemu, ya need a connection – to yer partner, and to the audience. Enjoy yerself and the dance, and make everyone feel it."

Nemu nodded politely, hiding the surprise and the sudden guilt that she felt. There was a reason why she was dancing with him, and that was to improve. She owed that to Yumichika-san and Ukitake-sensei and Unohana-sensei. They expected great things from her, and by holding herself back from these lessons; she was holding herself back as a dancer. Pushing back the shame, she began the lesson.

An hour later, he was dancing the routine with his eyes closed, his feet fitting the outlines perfectly. "Very good, Abarai-san. You've improved very much." The sun had begun to set, the sky turning brilliant hues of vermilion and gold.

"Thanks." When she moved to step away, his grip tightened.

"Abarai-san?"

"Remember what I told ya earlier, Nemu? Show me that connection," he demanded. "Use what I've been teaching ya, and let's _dance_ this waltz. I don't like dancing with statues." Before she could so much as utter a protest, he began.

He felt inexplicably disappointed, and grimaced. He barely knew her; why was he so…well, _interested_? But it irritated him that she wasn't giving into emotion when he'd seen her all but melt in his arms that night weeks before. He also hadn't liked her simple statement of being content at the studio. Did the woman have no strong feelings about anything?

Oh, she did, he knew it. He'd felt that passion awaken within her, like some slumbering giant in the coming of spring. He just had to bring it back. "Look at me, Nemu."

"I'm not supposed to, you know the posture-"

"Dammit Nemu, I said look at me!" he barked.

Gunmetal gray eyes turned to his, and he was struck by the _fear_ he saw there. What was she afraid of? "I-I'm getting dizzy," she faltered, and tried to turn away once more.

He forced her chin back to look at him. "Look in my eyes," he demanded. "Use me as yer focus and ya won't get dizzy."

Oh, but how could she say that _he _was making her dizzy? He was stirring up all of these strange feelings inside of her, and she hadn't the slightest clue about what to do. Her father had been extremely overprotective of her, not out of concern but out of convenience – it was better if she spent most of her time in the house. She'd never had time to interact with boys and go through the normal flirtations of adolescence. She was as awkward with men as a fish out of water – except with Yumichika-san, but he was more feminine than she was, sometimes.

But his earlier words permeated her mind, and the guilt lying beneath the surface rose up again. She owed him, and he had done everything she asked of him. Didn't she owe him the same courtesy? With a sigh, she relaxed and gave in.

Renji was stunned, and it was all he could do to keep dancing. What just happened? Her eyes had gone misty and soft, turning from steel to silver, emotion overlaying every muscle in her body. She was no marble statue anymore, but a real woman, full of fire and life. His heart stuttered a little bit in his chest.

When they reached the end of the routine, he couldn't contain himself anymore. He whooped, picking her up in his arms and swinging her around. "Thattagirl, Nemu, I told ya! Ya did it!"

Nemu clung to him, a surprised laugh burbling out of her. She'd truly done it, and the approval in his eyes warmed her like a fire. The air felt charged, electricity buzzing along her skin, and her breath hitched at the sudden burning excitement that appeared in his eyes. He leaned close-

"Are you done yet?" Soi Fong lounged in the doorway, her toe tapping against the roofing tile. "It's getting dark."

Renji started, nearly dropping Nemu. "Na, we ain't supposed to practice today, partner." His voice was annoyed, and he only glowered more at his partner's unrepentant grin.

"We're not. Everyone's going out to drink tonight, and Matsumoto got the bright idea that we should also go to that club you and Nemu have been going to." She rolled her eyes. "Everyone's waiting."

Grateful for the distraction, Nemu stepped away from Renji. "That would be nice." Never mind that she never went out with the dancers to drink; she could slip away later and think about just what exactly was going on. Had he really almost kissed her? What did that mean?

"Wow, look at this place!" Matsumoto squealed an hour later when the pleasantly tipsy group entered the small Latin club. "We should come here more often, ne Toushiro?" She whispered something in her love's ear, grinning wickedly as he turned bright red. She pulled him onto the dance floor.

Hisagi, also a regular of the club, offered a hand to Soi Fong, grinning as she reluctantly took it. Yumichika and Ikkaku made their way to a group of friends before being swept off to their respective dances. A blushing Nanao followed Shunsui onto the dance floor, while Ukitake and Unohana found a quiet corner for themselves.

Renji glanced at Nemu, who looked somewhat lost and overwhelmed. She had not been able to slip away as planned because Matsumoto, overjoyed by her rare presence, attached herself to the silent girl. "Come on," he said gruffly. "Let's dance."

Another hour found the group at another bar, this time a more intimate one where they all sat around a table passing around the sake bottles and laughing quietly. Renji, who was having the usual debate with Hisagi over which was better, _bachata _or salsa, glanced up to look at Nemu, who was at the other end of the table with the women.

Suddenly, it occurred to him that she was sitting between Soi Fong and Matsumoto, but she no longer faded into the background. With a growing trepidation, he realized that she never, ever would. She was his center, his focus, and he was blind, deaf, and mute to everything but her. Shit, he thought, terrified and awed by that epiphany. Did he love her?

It wasn't so absurd, he thought, that he might love her so soon. Love wasn't a rational thing; no one could say if it took years or mere seconds to develop. It was simply absurd that he was perhaps falling for the one woman who seemed determined to keep him at arms length. She was as cold as an ice cube, as tight-lipped as a clam, and infuriating as all hell.

And he was falling for her.

Shit, he thought again.

At the other end of the table, Nemu contemplated the sake bottle in front of her. Did she want more? Matsumoto had persuaded her into drinking a little bit, and her thoughts were a bit fuzzy around the edges.

"So Nemu," Matsumoto said, draping an arm around the dark girl's shoulder. "Your _bachata _with Renji…that's something!"

"Hm."

"How is the buddy system working for you?" Nanao asked curiously, stirring the suspiciously pink drink Shunsui had ordered for her.

"Fine."

Soi Fong scowled. "Is that lug treating you all right? Does he show up on time and work throughout the lesson?"

Nemu hadn't really heard her. "He's like a volcano," she murmured. "There's so much bubbling and boiling until it erupts – and then it's a disaster." He made _her_ into a disaster, she thought, vaguely annoyed.

Matsumoto's eyebrows shot up to her hairline. Now _this _was interesting. "So, you're saying he's a disaster?"

"Oh yes." Her eyes strayed down the table to where he sat, hair dripping like crimson tears over his shoulders. Strong shoulders, she mused, and strong hands. But was he strong enough for her? Was she strong enough for him? "But such a beautiful one." She closed her eyes and slumped against the taller blonde.

"Whoops!" Matsumoto giggled. "Looks like she had too much." But as she pulled her head onto her lap, she exchanged significant looks with the other women. Interesting, indeed.

Nemu woke sometime in the early hours of the morning and stared up at the ceiling, noting the familiar ripples in the plaster. She was back in her apartment. She sat up in bed and clutched her head in agony as nuclear explosions went off in her skull. A soft noise had her looking up. Renji stood in the doorway, holding a glass of water.

"Thought I heard something." He approached her quietly, handing her the water and some pills – both of which she gulped down quickly.

"It appears…I've overindulged." When he didn't say anything, she looked up at him. "Did you carry me back?"

"Yeah."

It was unnerving, the way he was staring at her, like if he searched deep enough he could discover all of her secrets. Feeling foolish and not knowing why, she broke the gaze. "Thank you. You don't have to watch over me anymore."

It was a dismissal if he'd ever heard one. He made his way to the doorway, stopped, and turned. "If ya…" he trailed off.

She looked so distant, so damn proper and ethereally beautiful as the waning moonlight cast her silhouette into high relief. He wanted to close that distance and wanted to see her come undone, even though he knew he had no right do either.

Suddenly he was on the bed, kneeling in front of her. His hands were in her hair, yanking out the elastic and scattering pins left and right, raven waves cascading through his fingers. He tilted her face up, seeing the question in those deep, deep eyes, and answered it.

They knelt together on the tumbled sheets, her hands coming up to his sides, her nails digging into taut muscle. They formed a beautiful, complete picture within the frame of the window, for one could not tell where one ended and the other began.

When he finally drew away, he was pleased to see that her eyes had gone thundercloud-grey with passion. "Nemu," he whispered, throwing caution to the wind. If he loved her, he'd tell her, damn all the consequences. "I love you."

She went from floating on soft, hazy dreams to crashing on the cold, hard ground. For the first time in her life, she was truly astonished. "What-you-no-_you can't_."

"Oh, I can't?" For some reason, her reaction amused him. It didn't surprise him; no, it didn't surprise him at all that she would throw his feelings back at him. "That's dangerous, Nemu, telling a man what he can and cannot feel."

"You're joking."

For the first time, she saw anger flash in his eyes. "I ain't. There's a lot of things I am, Nemu – irresponsible, sometimes unreliable, foolish – but I ain't a liar. I don't joke about these kinda things."

"Why are you doing this?" Fear bubbled through her, boiling fast and hot through her veins. "Don't do this…please, just go. I can't think."

He looked at her thoughtfully. "Does the idea of me loving ya disgust ya that much?" he asked quietly.

Nemu stared at him. He sounded so _wounded_. She felt a pang somewhere in her chest for causing that, and wondered if hurting him somehow hurt her. "No," she said finally. "It's the idea of love and relationships. I hardly come from an exemplary family."

It relieved him that she wasn't against the idea of him, but the idea of a relationship. "What does yer family have to do with this?"

She bowed her head. "I don't know what love is. It never existed in my house, just duty and science. My father…can be a cruel man. The way I grew up…I'm not well suited to emotion. That's why it was hard to dance with you." She looked up, her eyes pleading. "You said it yourself, that statues don't suit you."

"Bullshit!" he shouted, slamming a hand against the wall. Nemu jumped. "The woman who danced with me tonight, the woman who's been dancing _bachata _with me for the past few weeks ain't a statue. She's real, flesh and blood, with a beating heart and the passion to go with it. She's _Nemu_, and I ain't settling for anything less than that woman."

He was so angry, she thought, but it was light years away from her father's anger. Her father's anger was cold and calculated, meant to cut everything to the quick. But Renji's anger wasn't even centered on her…no, that fiery temper was aimed at the circumstances they were in, and for some reason, she knew that he would never, ever be angry at her.

What was happening? This chaos, this raging torrent was too much for her to process. "Please go. I need to think, please."

The next few seconds seemed to go on for years. "Fine," he said eventually. He pulled her to him and pressed his lips to her forehead, ignoring the way she went stiff. "I'll give ya the time ya need, Nemu. But ya have to come to me." He left the apartment silently, ignoring the hollow ache in his gut.

* * *

She went away for the next few days, requesting a few days off to think. She'd stockpiled enough vacation days to stay away much longer, and Ukitake-sensei had been delighted that she was finally using them. She went to Kyoto, wandering around the formal imperial capital, exploring the various temples and palaces.

She arrived just in time for Kyoto's Jidai Matsuri, the Festival of the Ages that celebrated the city's glorious imperial past. She took to the streets with the crowds, her mind wandering just as her feet did. She still had no idea what she was going to do about Renji. Part of her wanted what he offered with all of her heart, yet her head told her that it couldn't work; that she was too much like her father to be with anyone.

"Kurotsuchi Nemu?" A hand landed on the sleeve of her yukata. Nemu turned and looked into a familiar pair of brown eyes.

"Sato-san?" she asked incredulously. Standing before her was the woman responsible for getting her into dance in the first place, the senior research assistant from so long ago. There were lines bracketing her eyes and mouth now, but she still looked the same.

"I knew it was you!" the older woman exclaimed. "You've grown up so, Nemu-chan. Come with me, I want to know everything that has happened to you since I left your father's company!"

Over_ okonomiyaki_, they reminisced. Nemu was astonished to find that the brilliant researcher was no longer in science. "It wasn't for me," Sato Megumi said, adding octopus to the batter. "It was my husband who pointed how unhappy I was. So I quit, and we moved here. I opened a ballet studio." Her eyes sparkled. "I have you to thank, Nemu-chan. I remembered how happy I was teaching you, so it was the logical…well, I wouldn't say logical, but it was the best thing to do."

"So that's why you left," Nemu murmured. She smiled softly. "I'm happy for you, Sato-san."

"As I am for you, Nemu-chan! I never would have thought that you would go into dancing…and you're a championship ballroom dancer as well! I am so very proud of you." She topped the pan-fried cake with_ aonori_. "I must confess, I was afraid that you would be living beneath your father's thumb for the rest of your life. But you've gone and made your own path, separating yourself from him."

"Have I?" she murmured, pulling her own _okonomiyaki_, studded with kimchee, off the grill. "I'm not so sure about that."

"Oh?" Sato-san raised an eyebrow. "What's bothering you, Nemu-chan? You know that you can always talk to me."

Nemu hesitated, before telling her everything – her rut, the buddy system, and Renji. "I was content," she said finally. "I was perfectly all right with the way my life turned out. I expected nothing more, and nothing less. I had only myself to rely on, and now…"

"What's happened now?"

"He opened a door," she said. "He showed me that there could be more out there, that I can be more than simply at ease. He's opened me to more than just myself, and I can't go back. I don't know what to do."

"I think you're holding your heart back, Nemu-chan. Is it so scary to have discovered it, and that you have given it to him?"

Had she? Nemu's eyes opened in terror. "If I have, it's not because I wanted to. I would not wish my heart on anyone-"

"-because of your father? Don't be foolish, Nemu-chan, you're nothing like your father. You proved that by going your own way and making your own life for yourself. Your heart has always been your own, and now that it reaches for another, you're holding it back." She reached over and held her hand. "I think you are scared, my dear, scared that once you give it over, you can never really have it back. You've guarded it from your father for years, but trust it to this Abarai-san. Trust your heart, Nemu-chan, not your head." She smiled brightly. "Let's eat, shall we? _Itadakimasu_."

Long after parting ways with Sato-san (after exchanging phone numbers and promising to keep in touch), Nemu pondered over her words. She found herself strolling along the Oi River, her thoughts overcrowding her head.

Laughter on the opposite bank had her looking up. There was a family, a father and mother, dressed in their festival best. The mother held a small child in her arms, and as Nemu watched, she put the child down. The child struggled on its unsteady legs, taking the first few tentative steps into his father's arms. Cheers of encouragement and love echoed across the river, and she couldn't help but smile.

It was the prickle of tears that surprised her, and she realized that her hands were trembling. For one moment, she'd replaced the couple with her and Renji, and the child was theirs. Damn him. He'd given her dreams and hopes and now she was fumbling, blind, and clumsy without him. He made her want more, made her not want to live for just herself anymore. She wanted him to believe in her, wanted to share her failures and her successes with him. She wasn't whole anymore because she had given the best of herself over to him, and she wasn't getting it back.

So why wasn't she angry?

Because she wanted those hopes and dreams and that shared life, and she wanted it now. Picking up the skirt of her yukata, she began to run.

* * *

Renji sat on the roof of the studio, contemplating the Tokyo skyline. It was late October, and it was getting cold, but he didn't care.

It rankled him to not do anything. He'd told her that he would wait, and that was what he'd do. But that didn't mean that he liked it, or that he wouldn't take matters into his own hands to make her see. He was a doer, not a thinker. True, he hadn't thought at all when he made his confession to her. That was just the way he was. But he had to let her think, let her stew, and hopefully she would make the right decision.

God, he really wanted her to.

Love was uncomfortable, the red-haired man decided, and he'd chosen an uncomfortable woman. But that was his decision, and he was sticking by it. He was _stubborn_, and it was about time that she learned that.

The door to the roof slammed open. Renji turned and stared. Nemu stood in the doorway, out of breath. She looked disheveled – hardly the put-together woman she normally was. Strands of midnight hair escaped from her tight braid and her sweater dress was wrinkled. One of her leg warmers was drooping, and her tights bagged slightly around the knees.

They stared at each other for one heartbeat, then two. From across the rooftop, he could see her lower lip trembling. And then she flew into his arms, fastening her lips to his.

It was a blast of heat that softened into a long, slow burn. It smoldered and smoked like ashes as she tangled her fingers into his hair, a sigh escaping from her throat. The tension that coiled within both of them since her absence released in that single, breathless moment.

Nemu pulled away and smiled. "Dance with me?" she whispered. Still absolutely dumbstruck, Renji nodded.

They waltzed slowly as strains of Frank Sinatra drifted up, probably from Hitsugaya's apartment. Nemu snuggled closer into his embrace, awed by how all the puzzle pieces seemed to fall into place. Yes, he was irresponsible, a little unreliable, and more than a little bit foolish – but he loved her, adored her – that much was loud and clear. It no longer scared her – it exhilarated her that someone could feel this way about her.

"Nemu?"

"Yes?"

"What is this?" He looked at her, golden eyes wary and hopeful at the same time.

She closed her eyes and thought for a moment. "I'm not content anymore," she said finally.

"Content?" Damn woman was going to make him have a heart attack – what did she mean by coming in here, kissing his brains out, asking him to dance, then telling him she wasn't content?

She shook her head, holding back a smile at his obvious funk. "No. I want more, and I want it with you. I came here as quickly as I could from Kyoto because I want to take the first step of a thousand with you. It's the hardest step, the one I couldn't understand. But I understand it now."

"Do ya?" His heartbeat was a distant roar in his ears. Was it possible to feel like this, like every part of him was full to bursting, and that another word from her might make him explode? Could he really believe in what she was saying?

"Yes, I do." They were still dancing, still circling that rooftop. "I understand that I don't have to be alone, and that I don't have to settle for a mediocrity. I was afraid that I couldn't have more than those things, perhaps that I wasn't worthy. Shhh." She placed a finger on his lips when he would have protested. "I know differently now. I know that I'm Standard and you're Latin, that we're as different as those two dances. But when they come together…" she wove her fingers with his. "They form something beautiful and strong and perfect."

She was so beautiful that he couldn't breathe. "Yeah, yeah they do."

"I can't say those words yet. I still need time." She looked up at him, and her eyes were luminous. "But I can say that I've given you part of me, and I trust you to keep it safe and not break it."

Renji grinned. "That's all I ask for." As he tilted his head down to kiss her once more, the moon shone bright over Tokyo, bathing everything in clear light.

* * *

Seriously. Mayuri. Samba. If you don't want to suffer that fate, then please review!

Some notes: _Bachata _is a form of music and dance from the Dominican Republic. The dance is extremely sensual, with a lot of body contact, depending on how it's danced. It relies a lot on hip movement. _Okonomiyaki _is a Japanese pan-fried batter cake, sort of like a pancake, that is filled with all kinds of ingredients like meat, seafood, vegetables, _mochi_, kimchee, and cheese, depending on the region. It is usually topped with things like _aonori _(dried seaweed flakes), Japanese mayonnaise, and other things.

Major thanks go out to the usual suspects: Poptate, for being such an excellent beta and suffering through my neediness, and MatsuMama, for being an amazing friend (yay for epic PMs and e-mails!) and the boot in my butt to get me to update. Thanks also go out to my lovely friend Angie for introducing me to_ bachata _in the first place and explaining it to me (and even teaching me to dance it, a little bit!). Next up in the Strictly Ballroom series: Hisagi Shuuhei, Kotetsu Isane, and the _paso doble_.


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